Under his breath
by Njuta
Summary: It is sometimes hard to accept reality, especially when it is far from being Manichean.Aknowledging the reality of your feelings, an area you foolishly thought was under your control, is still harder.But so many things depend on it! PLEASE, REVIEW!
1. Foolish bravery

**Disclaimer**: Most of the characters and settings of this fic entirely belong to JK Rowling.

Special thanks to C.D. without whom this story (to your bitter regret or complete indifference?) wouldn't exist and to Lara because we had such a great time!(a снегг идет, a снегг идет...)

**NB**: I've enabled anonymous reviews (I didn't even know they were disabled! It's the story of my life: I don't realise a half of the things that happen to me.)so, now, you don't need to log in to review(which was, of course, the only reason why did not, euh...?)

1. Foolish bravery

There were that girl's eyes boring into him as her father's body was lying on the floor by her and her mother was screaming in the next room. A several minutes' look into that desperate child's eyes was enough to throw off balance his already vacillating confidence into the principles that had been ruling his life for the last two years. He had already understood before that day that he was with the Dark Lord for the wrong reasons but still didn't want to own up to the fact that he was a mere pawn in his game.

Even Bellatrix, with her bloodthirsty fanaticism only managed to make him shudder. He had to admit to the fact that he had started that love-affair simply because he was flattered by the fact that a woman like her could find him desirable. On that night he realised how unbearable it all was: his "colleagues" were just a heap of narrow-minded, arrogant fools, craving for power.

Most of them, unlike Bellatrix, didn't even believe in what Voldemort claimed. He hadn't been sure anymore that he or any Death Eater or even Voldemort himself had the right to decide on who deserved to live and who did not; he hadn't been sure anymore of his desire of Bellatrix. On that night, a certitude smote down on him.

Everything he did after that was meant to smooth the acuteness of reproach of those eyes in his memory. But he knew it wouldn't be enough, he would have to give more, as much as he could: his very life. He had so sentenced himself and decided to devote the rest of his existence to get prepared to it.

Maybe, that child's eyes reminded him of his sister or of his childhood that had died with her or of his own cell-like loneliness that he had been prey to ever since.

"Miss Lebedev", said a metal-cold voice behind her. She started. "Pray, tell me what you have been doing for the last five minutes?" She could feel his sharp look boring into her nape.

"I have been…stirring my regenerative potion…Sir."

"Oh, you were stirring? How perfectly marvellous!" he let out a nasty laugh. "Look inside your cauldron, Miss Lebedev!" He now stood right in front of her. She looked down: her potion had turned greenish and was boiling rather spectacularly, with great yellow bubbles.

"Dear Miss Lebedev, would you be so kind as to read us out loud the last part of the recipe written IN FULL on the blackboard?

"Stir 15 times clockwise and then 15 times anticlockwise, from the centre to the rims…"

"Precisely: 15 times clockwise and then 15 times anticlockwise, from the centre to the rims and not _ad libitum_ in any direction wished, mind, Miss Lebedev! I am not sure you were counting the fifteen times while looking so fixedly somewhere BEYOND (as Professor Trelawney would put it) your potion since, well, you didn't even notice it changed colour at least three times!"

Her heart sank insidiously. She didn't care anymore: he could take from Ravenclaw as many points as his cruel, perverted mind could imagine provided he let her alone right now. But he did not.

"Oh, I suppose, Miss Lebedev," he went on, joining together his long white hands, "that you were thinking of something of CAPITAL importance, much more important, indeed, than the regenerative potion that you were, according to your own expression, "stirring".

"Yes!" she suddenly replied to her own surprise, lifting her head. For a short moment, Snape looked taken aback but, of course, he recovered his sardonic expression immediately.

"Very well! Maybe, you could be so kind as to share with us the fruit of your reflection?(he pointedly insisted on "fruit")

She lowered her head, biting her down lip regretfully. Behind her back, she could hear excited whispers: the students were eager to see how he was going to make mincemeat of her and hoped it was going to be as long and as interesting as possible. The downfall of Sophia Lebedev: this was going to be something!

"Silence!" he growned. "Well, Miss Lebedev," it seemed that he could hardly suppress his triumph, "we're all eager to discover the brilliant reflection your outstanding mind has just given birth to...to the detriment of your potion.

Silence.

"Miss Lebedev, answer my question!" his tone was now more of a threat than of a mockery.

Come on, tell him that you are sorry,that you apologise for your behaviour, that you shouldn't have been inattentive in a class that requires particular concentration.

"I am sorry, Professor, I realise that by being inattentive in a class that requires particular concentration, I unwisely exposed myself and my classmates." His eyebrow slowly went up

"As for my thoughts, I believe I am most legitimately entitled to keep them for myself." The whole thing sounded as if she was pulling his leg. The end was openly impertinent When he spoke up, his voice was dangerously calm. "You are very much mistaken, Miss Lebedev! Everything that happens in this class and, therefore, in your head when you are in this class, concerns me. Thus, the legitimacy you've just alluded to is highly debatable!"

"I can't agree with you, Professor!" As it was, it couldn't be worse. A strange light flashed in his dark cold eyes. He grew impatient.

"Miss Lebedev, do you realise you are being impertinent !"

"I apologise if it looks like Iam for I didn't intend to."It didn't sound really convincing, did it?For a second, he seemed to look perplex but recovered his composure immediately.

"We've lost enough time with your conceited nonsense, Miss Lebedev. I take 10 points from Ravenclaw."

"Go to hell!" thought Sophia in reply.

"…and, as you don't have any regenerative potion to present, would you be so kind as to come back here today at 7o'clock and start it over again? And make sure you are not going to be daydreaming this time. Ingredients are precious, I am not going to let my careless students waste them." He clearly articulated every syllable to make his discourse as hurtful and humiliating as possible.

Right! This was but a logical conclusion to the whole thing, she thought, walking towards the Great Hall when Helen caught up with her, putting her hand on her friend's arm.

"What on Earth happened to you, Sophia? Why did you tell all that stuff? You know he hates being thwarted! That's why he thrashed you! "

"I hate being thwarted too. And I hate him."

Yes, Yes, she loathed him and his cold glare, his sardonic half-smiles and his long (and rather greasy) hair; she felt a sort of weird fascination for his slender white hands and his black robes, always floating around him most ridiculously. She knew, she hated it altogether.

Especially on a day like that!

On the very day, eleven years ago, Mrs and Mr Lebedev, two brilliant and widely-respected civil servants from the Ministry of Magic, both devoted to the struggle against the Dark Forces, left their house to attend a meeting and did not come back, just as did all the people who attended that meeting. Somehow, Death Eaters had found out about it, and none of them had survived.

Sometimes, Sophia wished they would have been killed much earlier, when she was just an unconscious baby, like that famous Harry Potter who would enter Hogwarts next year; maybe, it would have been easier if she wouldn't have remembered them at all. No, a few weeks after they vanished forever, she celebrated (if such a word could be appropriate to such an occasion) her 7th birthday.

Seven-years-age is commonly considered as the age of consciousness and reason, the boundary of early childhood and it was particularly applicable to her case. She had already plenty of tender memories about Mum and Dad that could provide her with some moments of sweet oblivion but, most of the time, made her suffer terribly. She never managed to find out the names of the Death Eaters who murdered her parents but, from that moment on, she always kept on her mind a vivid image of those tall dark beings(were they human beings, really?) who crushed her life once and forever.

Sophia's parents were both Russian. Her father had studied at Hogwarts, entered the Ministry of Magic and ended deputy head of the Department for International Magical Co-operation. As for her mother, she came to Great Britain when she was twenty one, as part of her International Magical Law studies. They got married and Anna stayed in Great Britain.

After they both got killed, Sophia's grand-mother, her father's mother remained her only family. She lived in Russia so that Sophia had to go to live with her until she had turned eleven and had to go to Hogwarts in spite her gran's reluctance. Mrs Lebedev herself, as well as her deceased husband, were Muggles. It had already been a terrible shock for them to discover that, because of a distant grand-aunt that turned out to be a witch and of British origin, their dear Sachenka had to go miles away from them, to a school that seemed filled with mental people.

Mrs Lebedev inwardly hoped to be able to avoid sending Sophia to Hogwarts, now that she didn't have any relatives and didn't live any more in Britain but it turned out that long distances were no obstacle for Hogwarts' post-owls and that Sophia's prays and supplications were beyond what her patience could stand. Sophia was, indeed, very enthusiastic about going to Great Britain all the more because she had been living in the wizarding world for seven years and that muggle primary school in Russia was really far from standing comparison.

On the day of Sophia's 7th birthday, her grand-mother gave her an old silver medallion engraved with the image of a swan with spread wings and a slender neck. On the other side, there was an inscription in a language that Sophia, after long researches in heaps of great books about ancient and modern magical languages, managed to identify as an ancient magical Slav language that was used long before the Cyrillic alphabet and that couldn't be deciphered anymore.

She also found a couple of references to swans in the few books about slav magic that she could have access to at Hogwarts. There were several mentions to virgoswans, beings of Light and Love, extremely powerful and wise, but who could only use their powers for the benefit of a person to whom they were linked by a true affection. Originally, virgoswans were more of magical animals that could, occasionally, take human shape but then, more and more of them married wizards or even Muggles and, progressively, became more and more human.

Their powers weren't as extensive or as strong as their ancestors', some of them were just very skilled animagi and, there were, nowadays, exceptionally few "active virgoswans" whose range of powers could be remotely similar to that of the virgoswans that existed twenty centuries before.

But according to Vera Sinitchkina (a Russian journalist and novelist who pretended to be one of those "exceptionally few"), author of a "fictionalized autobiography: The Diary of a Virgoswan", "this has been our paradox and our tragedy for centuries: dedicating ourselves to men, who often turn out to be heartless and greedy brutes, exploiting shamelessly our exceptional abilities is our nature and we can't do otherwise than squandering our precious gift because it is its' very and only purpose and, if carefully treasured for ourselves, it becomes a useless and lifeless deposit.

According to Sophia's grand-mother, Sophia's mother had entrusted her the medallion the last time they went toRussia for holidays before she and her husband were killed, recommending her to give it to her daughter on the day of her 7th birthday in case if she wouldn't be here anymore. She also told that it had been the propriety of her family for years and that only women could hold it but, apparently,didn't mention virgoswans at all.

Sophia doubted about the fact of being an "active virgoswan". First of all,her mother would have certainly told her about it and then, she never revealed abilities characteristic to virgoswans: she was no swan-animagus and, although virgoswans were supposed to be able to foresee the future, she never had particularly brilliant marks with Trelawney and dropped Divination as soon as she could. If her patronus was a swan, it was, she thought, rather a reference to her mother with whom she so strongly associated her swan-medallion.

Among all her parents' belongings that had remained after their death in their London-flat Sophia also was particularly attached to her mother's books that she then kept after she sold the flat when she turned seventeen because, at that moment, both she and her gran needed money. They were Muggle books in Russian and, while her parents were alive, Mr Lebedev always insisted upon storing them in the attic.

The year before they died, Sophia used to overhear them arguing rather violently about them, her father trying to persuade her mother that keeping Muggle-books in such times was very foolish and that it would be much safer to destroy them. Heaven knows, Anna Lebedev rarely disagreed with her husband and never stood in the way of any of his plans but, as far as her books were concerned, she was unshakeable: Mr Lebedev would never touch them.

Sophia loved it when her mother read her out loud one of her books and her favourite was Pushkin's tales and, particularly, the tale about the Swan-princess that executed particularly difficult magical tasks for the lucky Prince Gvidon and, finally, married him. The trunk where the books were stored, contained a whole marvellous world. It turned out that, after all, Muggles were not so different from wizards: muggle novel-characters and muggle poets experienced the same feelings, suffered the same pains, were dominated by the same passions, struggled against the same fears than wizards.

Sophia found out about Snape's Death Eater-past two years ago. Helen's uncle worked at the Department of Magical Law Enforcement and the two girls got a summer-job in the record-section. Sophia couldn't miss the occasion of coming, by a pure chance, of course, upon the file dealing with her parents' murder in the middle of heaps of dusty parchments.

According to the file, only one of the murderers had been identified: it was Evan Rosiers and he died even before his guilt was discovered. However, during her researches, she also found a summary of a judgement, concerning Severus Snape and, according to which, hehad beensued for being a Death Eater but finally cleared only thanks to Dumbledore's testimony. The headmaster had declared that Snape had joined their side and even turned spy.

Of course, Sophia understood that Dumbledore wouldn't have done such a thing without being absolutely sure of Snape but she still found it all suspicious. Snape was the only Death Eater or, at least, former-Death Eater she knew, it was a sufficient reason to hate him.

"You know HE used to be a Death Eater and could perfectly be one of those who killed my parents!" Sophia and Helen were now passing through the doors of the Great Hall.

"There is no certain proof of it, replied Helen", sitting herself down at the Ravenclaw table.

"Look, I perfectly agree about him being a ruthless brute ignorant of what the word "fairness" means BUT you can't accuse him of the murder of your parents!"

"Oh, even if he was not the person who actually cast the death-spell on them, it is just the same because he undoubtedly would have done it if You-Know-Who had ordered it to him!"

She grasped her napkin furiously. Why did Helen keep so obstinately trying to steal from her the only consolation she had on such a day: being able to cast on a precise person the resentment that filled her up to the brim?

True, he was just the right person for this purpose. Potions was the only course (maybe, along with Divination) with which she was not at ease: it was only thanks to a particularly hard work that she managed to achieve moderately good results, whereas, with a similar amount of effort, she managed brilliantly for everything else. Her "Outstanding"-OWL at Potion-making still was the greatest surprise in her life.

This, of course, wouldn't have prevented her from dropping Potions but Professor Flitwick strongly advised her to carry on because, if she wanted a good career at the Ministry, it was advisable to have as many NEWTs as possible as the Ministry required "a high level of general knowledge" from its' employees.

Although Sophia wondered how her knowledge of potion-making could be useful at the Departmentfor International Magical Cooperation that she intended to enter, she followed Flitwick's advice, which she started to bitterly regret right after the first school-week of her 6th year: the fact that she couldn't stand the sight of the teacher certainly didn't help her to like the course itself.

She would have loved to be his butt, one of those with whom he was particularly toxic; that would have given her an extra reason to hate him but the infuriating thing was that he seemed totally indifferent to her and always was strictly impartial: a cold "Satisfactory" when it was all right; a pityless remark when there was something to criticize. Today's incident was an exception, certainly because her behaviour on that occasion was an exception as well. But, paradoxically,this didn't please her either.

A short and slender dark-haired boy entered the Great Hall. He spotted Sophia and Helen and sped towards them. His name was Joseph Manson and he played chaser for the Ravenclaw Quidditch-team.

"Oh, Sophia", he cried, "You mustn't worry because of that bloody bastard! Don't you worry because of him for a minute, he doesn't deserve it!"

"Joseph, hush, please!" muttered Helen. All around, people turned their heads towards them.

"You were right to stand up to him! Wow, it was great!"

Sophia smiled back ruefully.

"No! It was not! It was mere nonsense, just to thwart him. And what's the point? I just managed to cop a detention. "

"Well, an occasion for a romantic tête-à-tête," giggled Clarissa Crawford, who overheard the conversation from the other side of the table.

Sophia sighed, looking down to her plate. All her foolish bravery ebbed off: it was certainly going to be horrible!

Author notes: For Russian people, Pushkin is THE poet, the greatest of all times (and I do agree). He was very much inspired by folklore and popular tales that (according to the legend) he was told by his old nanny who was of peasant origins. He mentions her in several of his works and even addresses her in one of his poems.

Vera "Sinitchkina" means"little blue tit"


	2. Emotional Void

**Disclaimer**: Most of the characters and settings of this fic entirely belong to JK Rowling.

**NB**: I've enabled anonymous reviews (I didn't even know they were disabled! It's the story of my life: I don't realise a half of the things that happen to me.)so, now, you don't need to log in to review(which was, of course, the only reason why did not, euh...?)

2. Emotional void

Sophia was heading for Snape's dungeon, determined not to show up her fear. It was quite difficult because she couldn't prevent her hands from shaking a little bit. Right now, she would have given anything for being upstairs, in the Ravenclaw-common room, listening to Joseph's diatribes about Quidditch.

She knocked and came in. Snape was sitting at his desk, writing.

"Miss Lebedev, here you are!" he said in a blank voice, without even turning his head in her direction. "How marvellous you are not late. You know what you have to do, so, the faster you'll get started, the sooner it'll be finished. Look for the ingredients on those shelves and…" he stopped writing, "don't fall asleep while stirring."

She knew it would be wiser not to reply to such a provocation but she was not in one of her wisest days.

"I didn't fall asleep, Professor!" she said stubbornly, blushing. He looked up at her and sneered.

"It is not in your line, Miss Lebedev, not in your line at all! Usually, you keep strictly respectful towards me, in order, I presume, to deprive me from an occasion of pitching into you. But today you are particularly foolhardy." And he was back to his papers.

Sophia could hear her heart beat very fast and thought that it was one of the most displeasing moments in her life. How did he dare threaten her? However, she opened her book, looking for the recipe of the regenerative potion. It was one of the most tricky potions on the NEWT-syllabus but she decided to work as fast and as well as she could to get out of there as soon as possible.

She stepped decisively towards the shelves. Everything was in perfect order: jars, bottles, flasks were lined up and neatly labelled; there was not a speck of dust. Sophia liked keeping her stuff in order too, but here, it was nearly frightening! She started to work, choosing the ingredients, weighting. Then, she lit a fire under the cauldron.

Snape sat in silence, she only could hear his quill creak and heartily hated both the sound and the man. She was looking for the last ingredient, a scarlet phoenix-feather when Snape's voice articulated with Olympian calm:

"The phoenix-feather is to be found in the second drawer from the top, in the box on the right."

Oh, how much she hated him for that impartial tone! How could he in front of a person who became an orphan thanks to his little mates? Or even maybe to himself? How could he? How could he?

And, to make it still worse, it was now time to stir!

"Ah, here we are: it is a Historic moment," said Snape's sarcastic voice in her back "15 times clockwise and 15 times anticlockwise, from the centre to the rims without falling asleep and down into your cauldron: you are a very gifted student, Miss Lebedev, you'll manage it!"…However, I'd suggest you to count out loud, just to be sure…"

She was on the verge of tears. "Bastard, bastard, bastard!" she thought but started to count in a trembling voice: "One, two, three,.." Her hands were shaking and clammy and did not obey her.

"No, Miss Lebedev," he sounded irritated "You do not do it properly. From the centre to the rims: it is not that difficult, is it?" He stepped closer and was now right in her back.

"Oh, stop that massacre; let me show you!" and he seized firmly her right hand that was holding the ladle with his long fingers before she had time to wink. They were not as icy as she thought they would be. His arm was stretched over hers and his deep voice sounded now like velvet skimming her ear.

"See, Miss Lebedev, "he said, guiding confidently her hand. "Go on, count, otherwise the potion will be lost again. Come on: six, seven..;"

She could hardly breath but obeyed, wondering about how hypnotising his voice could be. As she counted, she vaguely felt he was getting closer, bending progressively down; his left hand softly alighted on her side. Somehow, she understood there was something wrong but her mind was terribly empty and her limbs drowsy. When she reached fifteen, she felt his breath in her hair:

"Very good. Now, the other way round, come on." She obeyed again. Contrary to what she thought, he didn't smell dried frogs or other stuff of the sort. It seemed to her she had been standing here for ages.

At "seven", his lips touched her neck, just where beat the artery. It was as if a lightning had stricken her. She dropped the ladle into the cauldron and suddenly freed herself from him. Stepping hastily back, she pulled her wand out of her pocket. Her cheeks were blushing and her eyes opened wide with amazement

"Professor, don't touch me or I swear I'll…"

He cast at her a look that made her shudder; there was a terrible silence. He finally turned his back on her with a deep sigh.

"I am sorry." he said dully.

She could not believe her ears.

"You are just "sorry"! That's all you find to say?"

"What else do you want?" he replied angrily.

"Why do you keep torturing, humiliating me?"

"Huh, looks like I really hate you, doesn't it?", he faced her, smiling ironically.

"Your… emotional void doesn't give you the right to…to…"

His jaws tensed for a second.

"My emotional void?" muttered he. "Well, thanks for the diagnosis, Doctor!

"You…you are a sadistic, heartless person!"

"Oh, what a compliment!" He returned placidly to his desk and sat down, as if nothing had happened.

"You despise everybody and are only engrossed in yourself!"

"Well, everybody is, actually." was the immediate reply.

"You… I know you are a former Death Eater. Tell me, how many innocent Muggles did you kill? People like you murdered my parents. Who knows, maybe you did?"

Suddenly, he got up, nearly turning upside down his chair, pale with anger.

"How dare you talk about what you ignore? Your sufferings don't give you the right to judge the others!" His eyes sparkled in a terrifying way. "Your parents? If only you knew how your…" he broke off in the middle of what he was saying and took a deep breath. Sophia's heart bounced.

"What? What am I supposed to know?"

"Nothing," he snapped violently. "After all, why would I have to justify myself, clear my name of your accusations? Why such a honour? Miss Lebedev, you can think of me as ill as you please. I give you an A for your regenerative potion. Now, would you be so kind as to leave me? I have some urgent work to do and, please, don't bother, I'll get everything in order myself." He cast her a cold look, sat down again and folded his arms, apparently waiting for her to go.

This was unbelievable! She kept staring at him for a moment but his head was already bent over his papers. She picked her book and headed towards the door.

"Oh, pay attention, Professor," she said, "the potion is boiling!"

She didn't really remember how she got to the entrance of the Ravenclaw-common room. The last thing she now wished was to bump into somebody who would like to start a conversation. She just wanted to be alone, to turn over again in her mind what had just happened to her. It was,unbelievable and much more. For a short instant, she considered the idea of finding Helen and telling her the whole thing. But what would she say? "You know, Professor Snape has just…!" What? What had he just done? She didn't even know how to put it! In any case, it would sound ridiculous, a bad-taste joke.

The common room was crammed with people, especially the 5th and the 7th years. It was already the beginning of May and OWLs and NEWTSs were getting closer. Sophia spotted Helen, Joseph and other 7th years, sitting by an open window. The weather was particularly fine and the heady perfume of the spring-evening flooded the room. She took a deep breath that made her feel much better and headed towards her friends who had by now seen her. As she passed by the fireplace by which Clarissa Crawford and some other girls were gossiping, she heard Clarissa's voice.

"Well, Sophia? How was that tête-à-tête? Passed an agreeable hour? Did you have a slow dance or champagne? Or both? Don't tell us you just made that potion and went away!" The girls giggled.

"Oh, tell us, did he help you to stir?" asked in a clearly ambiguous tone Rosalinda Addams, Clarissa's best friend. Sophia tried not to blush at this remark.

"Oh, Cracky!" she said, mocking surprise. "I must have taken a wrong corridor and ended up in the Slytherin common-room: it is the only place where such amiable and witty remarks are to be heard."

"Oh, you're just too touchy!" said Clarissa sulkily. "C'mon, tell us at least what he gave you!"

The whole group stared intently at her.

"He gave me an A ." answered Sophia placidly, turning her back on the girls who looked really disappointed. They expected Snape to take advantage of the situation and give her at least a P. Usually, even if she didn't do as well as in other classes, she always managed to scrap an A.

She got to the table where Helen and Joseph were seated.

"Hi, I am back alive", she said, waiving at them. They both looked very worried about her.

"So?" asked Helen.

"Well, I have already been received in a warm, comforting way over there." she answered, pointing tiredly at the fireplace.

"No, I mean, Snape. I hope he wasn't too nasty!"

Sophia's heart sank. She couldn't just plainly tell the truth, especially in front of Joseph. She sighed:

" Just the usual lot. Made fun of my "stirring" but gave me an A."

How fortunate, they didn't know the truth! What if they knew? The very thought of it made her redden.

"Well," she said in a yawn. "I was supposed to work on my NEWT-report but I am afraid I am just good for nothing, right now. I am going to bed."

Every 7th year had to build up a report on a subject they chose, combining two of the NEWT-syllabus classes. Sophia chose Defence against the dark arts and History of Magic and worked on vampiroids in Modern History. (Professor Binns didn't find her choice of subject particularly relevant because it had nothing to do with goblin-riots between 900 and 1200 so he wasn't really enthusiastic about helping her.)

She went up to the dormitory and laid down on her bed, still asking herself if what happened to her wasn't some sort of dream, completely meaningless, as dreams usually are. Why on Earth did Snape do THAT?

What was the point of it?

To make fun of her?

To frighten her?

But it all sounded ridiculous!

Sophia never asked herself what sort of woman Snape could be attracted by and she certainly never imagined, she could be that sort of woman. The most disconcerting was the fact that a moment later, he was again his usual self: cold and abrupt, as if nothing had happened. Just an insignificant "Sorry", as if he had simply stepped on her foot!

The vivid recollection of his cool fingers clutching her hand made her shudder and she had to acknowledge it was not really a shudder of disgust. And that was the most disturbing: when she thought it all over again, at that moment, when he seized her hand while she was stirring, she hated him, yes, she still did, maybe even more than before but, inspite all her efforts to sense it inside herself, she could find no repulsion.

Besides, she expected him, if not to hate, to despise her but the plain facts seemed to indicate just the contrary. He had certainly failed to keep impartial but, it was now clear: whatever was his attitude towards her, it seemed to dissatisfy Sophia in any case.

Then, she remembered his strange behaviour when he talked: suddenly stopping in the middle of a sentence, as if he was on the verge of revealing her something she was not supposed to know; something about her parents but, at the same time, something that would have cleared him.

"If only you knew how…" What? What could they be reproached with?

In the file she read about their murder, her parents were referred to as exemplary and highly deserving witch and wizard whose death would be a great loss for the Ministry.

And Sophia believed (her naivety here was quite understandable and excusable, really) they were not just the usual official platitudes. She knew her parents, she remembered them and, of course, they were the best people in the world. As a child, she had fixed up their luminous image in her brain just like she did for the dark ruthless Death Eaters who killed them. This outline had helped her to live up, to go on; parting with it, she felt, would be nearly like losing her parents again. It couldn't, by any mean, be blown away all of a sudden!

How did Snape dare to make an attempt to it?

He, among all!

However, a vague anxiety, that had penetrated her heart, was now gnawing it. After all, the world was not that Manichean and she wasn't seven anymore (Snape's tonight behaviour was a vivid proof of it!) The only version of the events she had ever heard was her grandmother's.

The meeting was supposed to be secret and nobody, except those who were to attend it, knew neither the place, nor the time. So, the most probable was that one of them had betrayed the others. But then, the Death Eaters killed everybody and why would that person have told everything, if it was not in exchange for a guarantee of safety.

Well, after all, according to what she imagined of them, THEY were perfectly capable of not keeping their promises; Thus, any of those who were killed still could have betrayed the others. It was as if her brain was working independently of her, whereas her heart refused to follow the impartial track of her reasoning. "These are only suppositions!" a desperate voice was repeating in her head.

"If only you knew how your..."

But what made her think he was talking of her parents at all? Maybe, it just had to do with herself? It could be something that had to do with his feelings towards her, which finally turned out more complicated than she thought. Maybe it was: "If only you knew how your…eyes( or something worse?) make me feel!"

Although she felt no slightest inclination towards her potion-master, she ardently wished, the last supposition to be the right one. Somehow, she thought that it would be much easier to cope with Snape, being violently attracted by her, provided she probably would never see him again in a two-months time, than with something threatening to crush the idealistic image of her parents. But, God! How "un-snapish" all this was!

She kept turning over and over, not feeling sleepy at all. Through the shut hangings of her four-poster, she heard Helen and the other girls coming up, undressing and going to bed, one after another. Finally, all the lights were off, her room-mates were peacefully snoring and she was completely awaken.

felt she had to do something about what Snape had hinted to. Of course, it was out of question to ask him for an explanation: Sophia even wondered how she would be able to look at him now without blushing.

The only solution was to write to her grandmother and to ask, to demand the whole truth. Whatever it was her grandmother hid her, she felt that she had the right to know it. Still, this resolution didn't help her to fall asleep: she suddenly remembered that she had laid down on her bed without undressing and that she had urgent work to do.

To cap it all, she now was hungry. She had a half-full box of cream-filled chocolates from Honeyduke's in her bedside-table that could now reveal itself useful by cheering her up a little bit. She silently got out of her bed, picked the chocolates and her school-bag and went down to the common room on tip-toes. Of course, there was nobody downstairs. She sat down, opened her book with a sigh, helped herself with a chocolate and buried herself in a thick and gripping-looking book .

But she hardly managed to concentrate on what she was doing, shattered as she was by the events of the evening. A half- an-hour struggling and four chocolates later, she gave up, picked a piece of blank parchment and wrote a letter to her grandmother, asking her if there wasn't something about her parents she didn't tell her. Of course, she didn't explain what event led her to doubt about the version of the story she knew: her grandma certainly didn't need to know about the circumstances of Sophia's dealings with Snape!

She went to bed by two, completely exhausted and filled with chocolate and cream but feeling a little better than before.

"Why did I tell him that stuff about emotional void?" she asked herself while falling asleep. "Well, he deserved what he got. "


	3. A lonely soul

**Disclaimer**: Most of the characters and settings of this fic entirely belong to JK Rowling

**NB**: I've enabled anonymous reviews (I didn't even know they were disabled! It's the story of my life: I don't realise a half of the things that happen to me.)so, now, you don't need to log in to review(which was, of course, the only reason why did not, euh...?)

3. A lonely soul

Given the distance, she couldn't reasonably expect a reply from her gran before at least a week and a half. The waiting would have been unbearable if she didn't have other problems to distract her a little bit.

On the next morning, she learnt that some Slytherin-girls had already nosed out about her detention. Sophia wasn't really loved by them because she provided the Ravenclaws with rather too many points and, anyway, was "just a Mudblood". Moreover, one of the 7th years-Slytherins, Julia Jerkins, bore her a particular grudge because, two years ago, Sophia cast on her a Furnunculus-spell in front of a crammed compartment of the Hogwarts Express, including a 7th year-Slytherin-guy, whom Julia was secretly in love with, for having made a rather disagreeable remark on Sophia's origins (Muggle and Russian).

Thus, when she saw Julia, walking down the corridor towards her with two other girls from her gang, she knew what was to come.

"Oh, look!" Julia cried, grinning in a rather nasty way. Here comes our exemplary "Sophia Lebedev", freshly fallen from her pedestal! Shut you up, that detention, didn't it, Lebedev?" They burst into a satisfied laughter. "So, how does it feel to be like EVERYBODY, "Miss-I-am-the-best"?"

"Oh, I'll certainly start to worry when I'll be like YOU." Sophia answered, through clenched teeth.

"I see, Miss despises us, little humble Slytherins," simpered Julia. "Oh, by the way, still wearing your prefect-pin? Well, I bet, you'll have to take it off: prefects don't get DETENTIONS!"

"Huh, I suppose, I'll still have the great comfort of having contributed to your happiness. You don't need much to drive you wild with joy, Jerkins!"

She went away, her knees shaking a little bit. Of course, she hated to meet Julia and her gang and couldn't say she was not afraid of them at all but she also learned not to show out her fear: it was the only way to stand up to them.

She left the dormitory before the others to go to the owlery and send the letter she had written last night to her grandmother

The owlery was one of Sophia's favourite places: she liked its' bare stone-walls and the chilly wind that stroke her face when she entered and took her breath away, and the sound of thousands of flapping wings.

felt as if she was a bird herself, ready to dive into the magnificent landscape, stretching endlessly before her eyes, her heart on the verge of bursting with wild joy before so much beauty and with wild fear before all that emptiness. She had the impression that her whole future-life was laid here, in front of her. It was terrifying and exhilarating; she felt like crying and laughing at the same time. At least, her parents' death had learned her to love life.

Her owl, Becky, rushed down on her with enthusiastic hooting, even before Sophia had time to look up, nearly knocking her off her feet. Athena was very young and hadn't learned yet to restrain her emotions towards her beloved mistress. Sophia even wondered if her owl was going to get any calmer one day. It would not be just a dubious pun to say that Athena was featherbrained. She could fly away for several days, even if she always came back with a little present to make it up: a big rat, a field mouse or even a small mole, at different stages of decay. Indeed, it was a very nice post-owl.

"Yes, Becky, yes! I have something for you," Sophia said, fixing the letter to the bird's paw as it was jumping up and down with impatience. "Go, my dear, carry it to gran for me, will you? And then, well, you'll bring me back the answer! Whatever it will be, she added for herself. "Come on, go!" As Becky left in a frantic flapping of wings, Sophia had the impression that a heavy iron gate had shut on her .

She went down to the Great Hall, where Helen and the others were already seated, having breakfast. As she walked along the Ravenclaw-table, she noticed heads turning in her direction and whispers. Of course, it was the news of the day: Sophia Lebedev got detention! She sighed: they really had nothing else to worry about!

"You look exhausted," dropped Helen into her ear, as she sat down. "Are you sure you slept last night?"

"Strange you ask: I slept like a baby."

"Hum," answered Helen doubtfully. "You're the gossip of the day, I believe."

"And they still don't know the whole thing" Sophia answered mentally. "God! how am I to face Snape now?" She still felt the burn of his fingers on her right hand and his low, velvet-like voice still sounded in her ear.

She passed the main part of the morning in a half-awaken state: she now cruelly felt the lack of sleep and would have given anything for a nap.

Fortunately, she had double-Defence against the Dark Arts. It consisted in taking notes on the endless and pompous Professor Muffleduf's discourses, which were mainly the repetition of the content of their text-books, littered with his "valuable personal remarks" that proved to be completely useless.

It was Professor Muffleduf's first year at Hogwarts and, actually, his first year of teaching in general. According to his sayings, he had just came back from Siberia, where he had passed three years, fighting bear-headed monsters. Sophia still had difficulties in imagining Professor Muffleduf standing to a hoard of infuriated beasts with his golden spectacles that conveyed him the look of a frightened owl and his pompous manners. But he spoke Russian quite well, which gave him credit.

Arrias Muffleduf was an incredible mixture of pride and humility and had a gift for talking in a most complicated manner and during long hours just to say as much as nothing.

He had performed a complete verbal firework in front of the whole school to introduce himself during the beginning of the school- year-feast about "the incredible honour he felt it was for him to work in such a prestigious institution, known world-wide, in collaboration with such remarkable specialists and about his great joy at the idea of contributing to the education of the future elite of the wizard world, etc, etc." He was awfully, even unnaturally dull and as soon as he opened his mouth to talk, his students opened theirs to yawn.

However, today, Sophia didn't mind Muffleduf: at least, she could think or doze in peace!

And the two things she only could think about were: how long would it take her grand-mother to send her an answer and how she would face Snape in her next potion-class on Monday. She felt it would be unbearable to look him in the eye. But what was yet more unbearable, was that she understood that it was rather he, Snape, who should fear to meet her and that she, on the contrary, had nothing to blame herself for.

But had she really?

Somehow, she felt that she had acted in a most childish and petty manner, plainly shouting insults at him. And that stuff about "emotional void"? The fact was that she had been caught off her guards and just got totally lost, not knowing how to react. She was furious with herself because, for a short moment, she found disturbing a man that she was supposed to hate, that she had to hate. She couldn't get rid of the idea that, if he had done what he did, it was because she had let him do it and, thus, it was as if she had betrayed her parents.

"And what if he was here when they were being murdered? And what if he was the very man who did it?" she kept torturing herself. She hated herself more than she hated him. And that was why she feared to look at him again: his sight would be the reminder of the guilt that was gnawing her.

However, Monday came, and she entered Snape's dungeon, and looked at him, and blushed, and went pale, and blushed again, and was greatly disconcerted because there was really nothing to blush and get pale about.

Snape was just as usual: as cold and as harsh towards her as towards the others, but without excessive cruelty either. He had fully recovered his impartiality and this lack of discomposure frustrated her: it was as if what had happened on that day, was a fantasy of hers and that he had nothing to do with it!

Next Thursday was the day of Sophia's 18th birthday, but, as she woke up in the morning, she didn't really manage to feel as joyful as one is supposed to feel on such a day. During breakfast, Helen gave her "Two thousand years together: an essay on the paradoxical and controversial relationship between wizards and Muggles through history" by Vlad Zinovievitch, a book she had been coveting for some time and Joseph a big box of Honeyduke cream-filled chocolates.

"Oh, I see," she said sulkily. "You want me to grow fat and ugly!"

"Yes! To be sure I'll be the only man to fancy you!", answered Joseph in a falsely-passionate tone, entering her game. Suddenly she blushed and turned her head.

"Hey, 't was a joke!" he muttered. "What's your problem, Sophia?"

"Oh, 'scuse me, I am tired… stress and everything…"

"Yeah, I see: it is about getting old. Eighteen, your vital forces declining, dusk of life! Hey, hey, stop smiling immediately: it is bad for your wrinkles! And look, white hair!"

Joseph was in great shape and she was feeling better. This, however, didn't last. When she heard the flapping of hundreds of wings of the post-owls above her head, her heart jumped as if it wanted to get out of her body. She saw Becky flying towards her and dropping in her lap a parcel and a letter.

"Oh, it must be your grand-mother's present," said Helen. "Open it!"

She started to undo the wrapping but her hands didn't obey her and her fingers felt like wood, she kept eyeing at the letter that lay on the table by her plate: it was a torture. Both her friends wore an extremely puzzled look.

"Sophia, stop that massacre!"Helen finally said with a smile

"Uh what?"she gave a start and nearly dropped the parcel. "What do you mean?"

"Are you OK? Let me undo it for you!"

"Yeah. Thank you" Her hands were finally free: she clutched the envelop.

"Oh, Cracky!" she said suddenly. "I forgot I haven't finished my Runes-paper yesterday! I wanted to look for a couple of things in a couple of books and... I have to go to the library. See you in class, then!"

She leaped on her feet, picked her bag and walked away, refraining from running. She overheard Joseph's surprised voice in her back.

"Hey, Sophia, you forgot your present!"

The library was deserted. She sat down at a table and didn't move for several minutes, staring at the letter that she was holding with her two hands, as if it was going to explode. Then, slowly, she opened the envelop and unfolded the piece of writing-paper that it contained. It was covered with her grand-mother's elongated, even hand-writing."

My dearest Sophia!

First of all, let me wish you a very happy 18th birthday and as much joy and success as you deserve. I have no doubt that you are going to get most brilliantly through your examinations and just want you to know that I am extremely proud to have such a grand-daughter as you, my love, although, as you very well know, I do not really approve of the path you chose to step on by going to Hogwarts, going back into the magical world. And what I have to tell you now will help you to fully understand my apprehension and my disapproval.

I have feared this moment for years, the moment when you would ask the whole truth about your parents' death, the moment you would understand there was something wrong, the moment I would have to give answers to your questions. If you had stayed with me, this moment, probably, would not come at all; still, the things being what they are, this moment is now.

I know only too well how much you love your parents and how shocked you were by their death. Heaven knows, nobody deserves to be deprived of their parents at such a young age. And, indeed, they were excellent parents and brilliant wizards. But they also were human beings and witnessed hard times and did what they thought was best to do. Indeed, your father did what he thought was best for Anna and you and I certainly don't have the right to judge him.

As a child, Alexandre was very sensitive to what the others thought of him and, I fear, he never forgave us for being Muggles. Having accepted to send him to Hogwarts is the thing that I regret the most in my life.

Despite all the love we gave him, he always suffered cruelly from a sort of complex, feeling inferior to the others because he was not a "pure", but a "Muggle-born", doing everything to prove them that he was their equal. He was a brilliant and ambitious (in the best meaning of the word) student, much more than most of the "pure-bloods" but some of them kept reminding him where he came from.

He made for himself a brilliant career at the Ministry, trying to get the place he deserved. Still, he understood too well, when the times grew hard, that the "Death Eaters" wouldn't forget his origins and, at the same occasion, his daughter's.

Of course, Anna immediately devoted herself body and soul to the struggle against what you call the Dark Forces and you may be sure that he did too. But he also foresaw what would happen to them, to you, if that Voldemort won and, believe me, at that time, according to what I heard from him, it was more than probable, and he made the choice of taking precautions.

Did he really have the choice at all?

Sophia, your father gave information to those people. He understood that he could take advantage of his position at the place where he worked to be useful to them and to guarantee himself, and Anna, and you safety. Of course, he didn't tell Anna because she wouldn't have accepted it, but, intelligent as she was, I am sure that she eventually started to understand, she just wouldn't admit to it, accept the reality.

Indeed, he was the person who told those people about that secret Ministry-meeting that was supposed to be attended by the most active resistant fighters against that terrible man and, I suppose, they promised him they would let him go and they just did not: maybe he was of no need anymore.

I know that sacrificing all those lives to save his and his family's is easily open to criticism and I am sure that, if he had survived, he wouldn't have been able to live with that weight on his conscience and your mother would certainly have blamed him.

Sophia, your father committed great faults, indeed, but he was a very unhappy man and he did everything he could to secure you a happy future, a future at all. And this fact alone allows you to love him as much as you did before you discovered the truth about him.

I am perfectly aware of the fact that this is not the best of birthday-presents but you just have to accept it now. You will have to learn to live with this weight, just as I did and, at least, you have nothing to blame yourself for.

Please, write me back and tell me if you liked what I sent you. Give my love to Helen and take care of yourself. I am impatiently looking forwards to the end of your examinations to see and hold you again.

I send you this letter and your birthday present with your owl. I hope they'll get to you: I still have great difficulties in trusting your ways of communication!

Your Grandmother

Here it was. She sat, staring at the letter. Her Grandmother was clearly partial; however hard she tried to find excuses to what her son had done, his guilt was evident. "Of course, he had the choice!" thought Sophia mournfully. "He wanted to save my life? And hand over to the Death Eaters the lives of his friends who had families and children too. My life certainly isn't worth all theirs together!"

She recollected that evening, the last time she saw them. Her father was preparing to go, then, an argument broke. Sophia was standing outside the kitchen door, in the dark corridor.

"I am not blind and I am not stupid, Sasha" there was a note of despair in her mother's tone "I can see there is something. How long have you been doing that? Why didn't you tell me anything?"

"Tell you what, Ania? Tell you what?"

"And the most frightening thing is that you keep trying to fool me! Why don't you trust me, Sasha? You know that I am not like the others, I don't love you because of your intelligence, or your position at the Ministry!"

"Why are you telling me that?" his tone softened. Sophia heard him pacing towards her mother "Of course, I know it, Ania! I've always wondered about what I must have done to receive such a blessing as your love. I don't deserve it" he went on in a low voice, "I love you."

"Then, let me come with you tonight!"

"I can't."

"Why?" There was a desperate silence.

"Because I ask you, I beg you, I beseech you not to come. Please, stay here, with our daughter. Please, Ania, my faults are great, greater than you can imagine but, please, don't make it harder than what I can stand! Please, please, don't come with me!"

There was a silence again and then, as if answering an unspoken question, he uttered: "It is done and nothing can be changed". He opened the kitchen door and his eyes met Sophia's. He didn't speak a word but,at that moment, she felt rather than understood, as acutely as only a child could, that he was telling himself he would never see her again. Her mother followed him to the door.

"I'll be back by ten" he said, kissing her lightly on the forehead but Sophia could see his long-fingered hand clutching frantically his wife's arm. She shut the door and leaned on it, closing her eyes and Sophia stood in front of her, not daring to move.

"Mum", she finally said, "you do have to go, don't you? Please, don't go!" She burst into tears, run towards her mother and embraced her neck. At that moment, she remembered, she had only one thought: to try with all her might to prevent her mother from leaving. She didn't really understand what was going on, it was an irrational, childish fear but, recollecting it now,eleven years later, still made all her insides freeze.

"Now, now, Sonia, my little darling," her mother was gently caressing her hair, "don't cry, my heart. I have to go,you understand it very well, you are already a grown-up. I'll ask Rebecca to come and look after you. Look at me, look at me. Do you trust me? I'll come back with Dad. We'll be back by ten. I love you, Sonia."

Her eyes filled with tears. How was she to go on now? Her parents were her only everlasting reference mark, they were her stability and never disappointed her; they were as secure as the ground she stepped on and now, it was as if somebody had stolen the ground from under her feet.

Around her, the library was filling up with people but she didn't notice them; she thought of her father, trying to recollect her last memories of him. AlexandreLebedev was, as far as she could remember, always up to his ears in work, never laughed much and, particularly during the last year of his life, used to look exhausted and, sort of, dried up.

"Of course, a double life must not be an easy thing to cope with!"

Sophia thought bitterly. But she also remembered the sparkle in his eye when he looked at her and the marvellous tales he told her before she went to bed, on the rare occasions when he came back home before she fell asleep while waiting for him, making desperate efforts to prevent her eyes from shutting closed, pricking up her ears to hear his pace up the stairs. But who knows, maybe he was coming back from a meeting with a Death Eater…

God! Was this now to poison all her memories of him?

He used to be ashamed of his parents; would she have to be ashamed of him for the rest of her life? It was unbearable and she felt terribly lonely: nobody could help her, not a single soul.

She suddenly remembered she had Ancient Runes right now and that she had to go. She lifted her head and looked around her, wondering if somebody had noticed her distress.

And she saw Snape.

He was standing in the far corner of the room, apparently looking down for something in a book. He raised his head and peered at her, his eyes glowing strangely. It was short but strong: if it wasn't Snape, Sophia would have said it was a glow of compassion. Then, he sharply shut the book closed, put it back on the shelve and went away in his usual determined pace.

She stood up, pocketed her letter and headed towards the door where she bumped into two 2nd year-Slytherin-girls who were giggling rather loudly and certainly inappropriately to the place. Sophia frowned: after all, she was a prefect.

"Loud noises are strictly forbidden in the library! It is a place where people are supposed to work without being disturbed. So, would the pair of you be so kind as to shut up immediately or go and unreservedly express you feelings outside?"

One of the girls sniggered.

"You must be Sophia Lebedev! Are you sure you're still a prefect? Prefects don't get detentions!"

"Very well!" Sophia snapped coldly. "Five points from Slytherin, five points each." And she went away. Strangely enough, she felt much better for a short moment and she surprised herself thinking that she understood why Snape bullied students: it proved to be a great relief when one was depressed.

Her head was still buzzing with questions: how did her grandmother discover her father was a spy? Did he tell her himself? It was highly improbable since not even his wife knew the truth. She certainly was told by the Ministry. Then, how did the Ministry learn it if all the people who were at the meeting were killed? And why wasn't there anything about her father's betrayal in that file she saw? How come Snape knew about her father too? Actually, everybody knew, except for her!

She passed the next two days presuming, supposing, imagining things. Of course, it was useless, she had to find a way of getting more details. Writing to her grandmother again and waiting for an answer was out of question. "What then?" she asked herself for the umpteenth time, as she was yawning on her Arithmancy exercise on next Monday-evening.

And suddenly, the answer to her question came as easily, as if somebody had whispered it into her ear. She leaped on her feet immediately. Of course, it was quite late but the person she wanted to see was very unlikely to be in bed. She slipped discreetly out of the room and headed towards the Headmaster's study.


	4. A hardly satisfying conversation

**Disclaimer:** Most of the characters and settings of this fic entirely belong to JK Rowling

**NB**: I've enabled anonymous reviews (I didn't even know they were disabled! It's the story of my life: I don't realise a half of the things that happen to me.)so, now, you don't need to log in to review(which was, of course, the only reason why did not, euh...?)

4. A hardly satisfying conversation

"We had a hell of a fun!" shouted Bellatrix when she saw him. "We were twenty to ten! Ha! They just managed to wound Marcellus and Malfoy and I have several scratches but we got them! The Lebedev-man's wife was here. You should have seen her face when she discovered the truth about her dear husband: turned so pale, and trembling, and snivelling: "Oh! How could you! Betray your friends! The Ministry!" and he was like "It was for our daughter's sake, I love you, Bladida, Bladida…" Enough to make you sick. So, we had to get rid of him. I am quite glad, he was getting on my nerves, always asking for guarantees! One doesn't haggle with the Dark Lord! (especially when "one" is a Muggle-born!) That quivering, maudlin hip of slimy gits! We're going to crush them all, despicable Mudbloods and Muggle-lovers!"

Her eyes blazed with wild excitement and she was nearly choking as she recollected with an evident, even sensual pleasure the events of the previous night. He had to admit to the fact that she was uncommonly beautiful right now, in her fit of mad fanaticism but he was as much repelled by it as he once used to be bewildered. However, he managed to look enthusiastic and to ask for details: now that he knew on whose side he was, and what he had to do, he was ready to stand anything, even to touch Bellatrix again, to lie, to feign, to pretend, even in front of the Dark Lord. He felt strong and invulnerable.

"Still, I can't understand why you didn't come." she said suddenly, scrutinising him suspiciously.

"Oh come on, Bellatrix", he crooned, embracing her waist and drawing her towards him. "You know I had to meet Dumbledore. On Master's approval, mind."

"And so? Did he rise to the bait?"

"Oh yes, he did!" Snape gave a Machiavellian smile. "I performed my little piece about the errors of youth and sincere repentance and, then, I am very good at potion-making and he lacks teachers: he engaged me, which, unfortunately, means," he softly drew a lock from her forehead. "…that I'll have to go to Hogwarts."

Gracious Goodness, how fortunate it was!

She looked at him gravely.

"If I didn't have the Master, I would be miserable but I know that we are fighting for a noble cause and no personal considerations may be placed above it. Meanwhile…" She seized him by the neck, drew his head down towards her and her mouth caught his lips impatiently.

Indeed, he had been to Dumbledore and plainly said that he was supposed to infiltrate Hogwarts as Voldemort's mole but that he was ready to do just the contrary. Dumbledore asked his reasons and Snape told him everything, he told him about the girl's eyes, he told him with the impetuosity and the pomposity of youth that, given what he had done, there was no possible redemption, no future for him anymore, that he was a dead man and that Dumbledore had now his person and his very life at his disposal. His position by the Dark Lord would be an exceptional opportunity for the Ministry as well as for the Headmaster himself, so that his life wouldn't be a complete waste.

Afterwards, he realised he had never been as sincere as he had been on that evening and regretted having been so uselessly expansive. Dumbledore's eyes behind his half-moon spectacles were unfathomable: may he have despised or mistrusted the twenty-years old young man sitting in front of him, there was no disdain or suspicion in those eyes. He refused him the DADA-teacher job but gave him Potions and accepted his collaboration as a spy. Snape thought that he could have achieved the same result without having told to the Headmaster the half of his biography and, since that evening, had always felt strangely uneasy in his presence, just like people generally feel in the presence of a person who knows an embarrassing thing about them.

Just as she was reaching the corridor leading towards Dumbledore's office, Sophia realized she had no idea of the password and felt very stupid. However, a strange surge kept pushing her towards the Headmaster's office-door. She suddenly heard soft paces in her back; she turned her head and was astonished at finding behind her the very person that she had been looking for.

"Good Evening, Miss Lebedev," the Headmaster nodded at her with a smile. "I suppose, you wanted to talk to me, didn't you? My fondness of solitaryevening walks around the castle turns out very fortunate since, I believe, you don't know the password. Apple Pie!"the gargoyle jumped aside, the stone wall behind split open and he invited her with a wave of his hand to ascend the staircase.

The study was dimly lit and silent. The portraits of Hogwarts' former headmasters and mistresses were all by now peacefully dozing in their heavy gilded frames.

"Please, Miss Lebedev, take a sit."

"Headmaster, I am sorry to disturb you, I know it is quite late" muttered Sophia, sitting down on a crimson velvet-covered chair. "but I just had to talk to somebody about…"

"Your father…" It was half a question and half a statement. Did he read her mind? "Very good. I knew you would come, one day or another. It was about time."

"Well, I have always been told that my father…, and Mum were murdered by Death Eaters."

"Indeed, they were."

"But I recently found out that I didn't really know the whole truth…" as he didn't seem willing to tell anything, she went on. "…and I wrote to my Grandmother, and she answered me that…that…" She had a lump in her throat and realised she couldn't carry on. She didn't imagine it would be that difficult.

"She answered you that your father, Alexandre Lebedev, a widely-respected wizard, devoted to the Ministry, worked as a spy for You-know-who and that he was the person who gave the Death Eaters information about that meeting during which he and your mother were killed."

"Yes. They didn't even keep their promise to let him go." She added, full of bitter resentment.

"Well, I am afraid, contracting with Death Eaters is quite risky."

"And my Mum, she was not supposed to go, of course, but, at the last, she went. That would explain why they were obliged to get rid of him. But, maybe, if she had stayed, they both would have been alive now!" she felt that she couldn't go on without bursting into tears. Dumbledore got up and paced slowly towards the window.

"Yes, they would have been alive now; and you mother would have been very, VERY upset about what Alexandre had done. She loved your father dearly. And worshipped him in compensation to all those who didn't because he wasn't a "pure". Why didn't it suffice him?" There was a pang of painful regret in Dumbledore's voice.

"Anyway," he came back to her and put his wrinkled hand on her shoulder. "What you have to remember, Miss Lebedev, is that you never knows how you would act in such a situation, what choices you would make. And, since we're all human, we sometimes make the wrong ones." He sighed. "I can imagine how difficult it must be for you, but you don't chose your parents and you mustn't blush because of what your father did.

"I know. Still, I can't disown him! And it is all so hard! It is as if all the memories I've got about him were to be rotten away by what he did. I mean, he is still my father and I still love him but it will never be the same. My parents used to be something sacred to me: they had no defects and never were wrong (well, it was easy since they were dead!) and now I see it is not exactly true."

"Dear Miss Lebedev, it is perfectly normal. As you say it, the fact you do not approve of what your father did, doesn't mean you don't love him anymore. Just think that you are to face life alone now and make your own choices."

"Yes, I know." Sophia replied tiredly. "I'd better learn from my parents' mistakes."

"Oh no!" Dumbledore laughed softly. "I gave up telling students to learn from the mistakes of others: it never works! Still, with your intelligence, your sedulity and, above all, your heart, you're pretty well armed to face life, I daresay."

"Sir, I just wandered: how do the Ministry, and my Grandmother, and... you know that my father was the person who… I mean, the Death Eaters had killed all the people who attended that meeting, hadn't they?

"Indeed, nobody survived. This piece of information was given us by a person who... used to be a Death Eater."

Suddenly, Sophia heard herself asking:

"Was that man Professor Snape?"

Dumbledore seemed a little bit taken aback.

"Why would it be Professor Snape, Miss Lebedev?"

It was easier to tell the truth.

"Well, I found out that Professor Snape used to be a Death Eater and that he then turned spy."

Dumbledore was fixing her intently.

"And, pray tell me, how did you "find out"?"

"Two years ago, I worked in the record-section of the Department of Magical Law Enforcement with Helen Bennet (her uncle works there) and I came upon the summary of Professor Snape's judgement."

"You "came upon"?" Dumbledore's spectacles sparkled ironically.

"More precisely, I meant to take profit of the occasion to find something about my parents' murder but, in their file, it only said that the murderers were unknown and there was nothing about my father's betrayal."

"Well, your father had a key-position at the International Magic Co-operation Department and was considered as one of the best elements as well as one of the front-line fighters against the Dark Forces. The Ministry trusted him. So, when it turned out that he, well, had contacts with the Enemy, it would have brought a great discredit on the Ministry as soon as the whole case would become publicly known: people would become aware of the fact that the Ministry didn't even manage to control its own members properly! Thus, the matter was just closed for lack of information although that person also knew the names of several Death Eaters bound to have committed the murder."

"Yes" said Sophia dully. "because if the Ministry had caught and tried them, they would have seized the occasion to proclaim out loud that it was the Ministry itself that was responsible for those deaths because it hadn't manage to detect a spy among its own employees. It would have been a great occasion to show how the Ministry was week and how You-know-who was powerful. In a case where the Ministry's prestige was at stake, finding the culprits must have been very secondary!"

Dumbledore nodded silently. She suddenly realised that he hadn't answered her question about Snape.

"Headmaster, do you know if Professor Snape was among those Death Eaters, those who killed my parents and the other people at that meeting?"

Dumbledore raised his eyebrows.

"Miss Lebedev," uttered he after what seemed to be an eternity. "I don't know why you...keep asking me questions about your Potions-teacher (here, she blushed heavily) and it is certainly none of my business. As it seems important to you, I'll give you an answer. I may swear that Severus Snape… that Professor Snape was not among them on that night."

"How can you be so sure?"

"Because the very evening, he was in this same office, sitting exactly where you sit now. Will this do?"

"Yes." Sophia gasped. She could hear her heart beating somewhere in her throat so loudly, that she feared Dumbledore would hear it too.

"He gave you detention last week, I understand." he asked distractedly, taking off his spectacles and rubbing them with a pleat of his robes. "The scoop of the week!" he went on in a playful tone, putting his spectacles on again. "People just aren't used to it, you know."

"Yes, I suppose so."

"Your position is difficult: it is much easier to get on top than to keep there, isn't it? And all those people waiting for you to stumble."

She nodded silently.

"Professor Snape is very demanding…" he said out of the blue.

"Indeed, he is," she replied in a nearly ironical tone that, she felt, was quite inappropriate.

"But you got an "Outstanding"-OWL in Potions, and so did, I believe, a lot of others. Thus, his methods are efficient, I presume"

His eyes bored into her and she suddenly felt uneasy.

"You know, Miss Lebedev," he leant back in his chair and crossed his arms with a deep sigh. "Professor Snape is a… complicated sort of person, although, at first sight, he seems quite easy to size up, especially when one doesn't bother analysing him further, which is the case of most of the people who deal with him, but not yours, I think. You can be sure that I do not always agree with his teaching-methods, of course. HOWEVER, all this isn't as easy as it seems."

"I know," said Sophia quickly.

"As far as you are concerned, I am quite sure he doesn't dislike you as much as it may seem to you…"

Sophia's hands twisted frantically a tail of her robes.

"…and, in my opinion, YOU do not loathe him as much as you think you do or, at least, as much as you think you should do. I know what you've been thinking, Miss Lebedev," he bent towards her across the table with a friendly smile. "he is a former Death Eater and your parents were killed by Death Eaters; thus, you have to hate him, you owe it to your dead parents; it is as evident as two and two make four! At least, it used to be, whereas now, it is not."

Sophia didn't know what to answer.

"Oh, come on, Miss Lebedev, I am not suggesting you to found a Professor Snape fan-club but just to reflect on this subject, calmly, objectively, will you?"

"Yes, Headmaster." She stood up. "Thank you very much. I'd better go to bed now. I hope I didn't take too much of your time."

"Not at all." he simply answered. You'll be always welcome here, Miss Lebedev, mind it."

"Thank you." She said warmly again.


End file.
